


Hands On Experience

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Energy Field, Hand Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet doesn't ask for help, which is fine, because Sideswipe is going to give it anyway. Written for the tf-rare-pairings comm on livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands On Experience

“You really ought to take better care of yourself,” Sideswipe said, leaning closer to get a better look at whatever rock or piece of debris was lodged in the gear.   
  
Ratchet huffed a ventilation, frame language they'd picked up from the humans over the years. “When would I have the time?”   
  
A half-smile pulled at Sideswipe's lipplates. “All ya have to do is ask, ya know,” he said, and smirked when the debris sprang free.   
  
It was a pebble, after all, and Sideswipe chuckled as it pinged off Ratchet's armor and then dropped to the floor. Relief edged out of the medic's energy field. Apparently, that bit of stone had been irritating him for quite some time.   
  
“Let's us have the chance to give something back,” Sideswipe added, turning the servo in his grip to make sure there were no more irritations.   
  
“I don't do it for the thanks,” Ratchet grumbled.   
  
“Yeah, but it's still nice.”   
  
Ratchet's systems hummed, digits twitching. He made a wordless hum, which to Sideswipe, was pretty much agreement. He'd learned how to read Ratchet all too well over the years.   
  
Amused, Sideswipe peered at Ratchet's servo, the thin plating dinged and scratched, evidence of a lifetime of hard work. Ratchet really ought to soak both his servos in some hot oil, give them a good scrub with a soft-bristle brush, and let Sideswipe repaint them, too.   
  
Ratchet's digits twitched again and Sideswipe knew it wasn't intentionally.   
  
“You like?” he asked, amusement leaking into his energy field, ex-vent ghosting over the sensor-lined servo.   
  
He heard, more than saw, the tiny mechanisms in Ratchet's optics shifting as he rolled them in exasperation. “Every one knows how sensitive my servos are.”   
  
“Yeah, but has anyone taken advantage of that, yet?” Sideswipe asked, using the opportunity to trace one digit across Ratchet's palm.   
  
He was rewarded with the unmistakable sound of a hastily controlled ventilation. “Of course.”   
  
Sideswipe grabbed the oil – synthetic and human-made but suitable enough – and squeezed some into the complicated gears of Ratchet's servo, detecting a barely-audible whuff of relief.   
  
“Frag,” he teased, manipulating the joints of Ratchet's servo. “And here I was hoping I could give you something to think about.”  
  
He unfurled his energy field, letting it reach out and tap against Ratchet's own in blatant invitation. No need to be subtle. It wasn't really his style.   
  
“You're not as irresistible as you think you are,” Ratchet retorted, but he didn't reject the invitation either. In fact, his own field stretched out, buzzing against Sideswipe's as though searching for the best possible ingress.   
  
Sideswipe set down the oil, wiping away the excess with some mesh and tucking that away, too. He then pitched his vocalizer into a low rumble.  
  
“Wanna bet?”   
  
He pulled Ratchet's foredigit toward his mouth, rolling his glossa over the tip of it, where multiple tiny sensors clustered. He could taste the oil, not entirely unpleasant, and his oral lubricants seeped into the complicated gears of Ratchet's digit. He rolled his optics up, watching Ratchet.   
  
The medic shuddered visibly, plating lifting up and away from his substructure. Invitation. Sideswipe grinned around the digit in his mouth, drawing it deeper, flicking his glossa along the length of it.   
  
A strangled sound emerged from Ratchet's vocalizer. He shifted, but he also didn't pull away.   
  
Emboldened, Sideswipe sucked another digit into his mouth, lashing his glossa between the two, rolling the sensor-lined digits around his oral cavity. He wondered if he could make Ratchet overload from this stimulation alone.   
  
He unfurled his energy field, tapping it against Ratchet's again, teasing him with flashes of playful desire. It would do Ratchet some good, Sideswipe reasoned. Primus, it would do all of them some good.   
  
“You Pit-spawned fragger,” Ratchet all-but-wheezed, but the barriers fell, and his energy field stopped resisting, letting Sideswipe's own twine with the edges.   
  
Desire rushed in. Hah. So much for Ratchet's stubborn resistance. He wanted Sideswipe just as much!  
  
Sideswipe grinned and dragged his denta down the length of Ratchet's digit, just enough pressure to agitate every single one of the sensors but not cause pain. Ratchet whuffed a ventilation, hydraulics sagging, a shiver rattling through his plating. Heh. He really liked that.   
  
Sideswipe pulsed desire through his energy field, soaking it into Ratchet's, adding pleasure and arousal to the mix. Lust was a matter of course, his own spark beginning a slow throb of want.   
  
He flicked his glossa over Ratchet's digits, watching as Ratchet twitched and spluttered and electricity crackled over the chartreuse armor. Plating lifted and flexed, baring buried components to the air, expelling the heat building beneath.   
  
Ratchet's free servo had clenched on his thigh, gripping as though he needed the grounding. His optics flickered, blue static arcing out from his substructure.   
  
Sideswipe dragged his denta down again, until the tips of Ratchet's digits were caught between the blunt edges. He bit down with slowly increasing force, just enough to activate the pressure sensors but not cause undue denting.   
  
A strangled noise, more static than language, erupted from Ratchet's vocalizer. He lurched forward as though he were trying to escape, only to settle back down again, entire frame spasming.   
  
Fragging hottest thing Sideswipe had seen in months.   
  
He was so going to tackle Ratchet to the ground and engage in some high quality 'facing. But first, he was going to prove a point.   
  
Heat wafted from Ratchet in waves now. His energy field was a pulsing ripple, tangible against Sideswipe's atmospheric sensors.   
  
“Primus,” Ratchet groaned and in Sideswipe's datapad, that was practically a plea for more. Begging, really.   
  
Sideswipe obliged, curling his digits around Ratchet's wrist, and pushing the tips into the narrow gaps. He could feel wires and cables beneath, charge crackling across his digits. These, too, were sensitive and Sideswipe took full advantage of that, drawing charge with his digits and directing it to the delicate components of Ratchet's wrist.   
  
Ratchet's servo twitched in his grasp, a mild reaction compared to the full-frame arch that he performed.   
  
Sideswipe rode the motion, his mouth locked on Ratchet's digits, drawing them further into his oral cavity and lashing his glossa across them. He could taste the charge on Ratchet's digits now, could feel it into the unsteady vibrations of the medic's energy field.   
  
Ratchet rolled his helm, pedes pushing at the floor with a screech of metal on concrete. Some human might come to investigate the noise, but frankly, Sideswipe didn't give a frag. If the squishy got traumatized, it would be his own fault.   
  
A stuttered moan escaped Ratchet. It deepened when Sideswipe applied his denta again, biting down and loosening his denta in alternating intervals. The shift had to be driving Ratchet's sensors crazy with contradictory data, but it produced the desired results.   
  
A rattle shook Ratchet from helm to pede. His energy field flared. The sound of creaking metal echoed even louder – Ratchet had dented his own thigh paneling. His heel strut scraped against the floor, leaving a smear of yellow-green paint behind.   
  
He had to be close.   
  
Sideswipe locked his denta on Ratchet's knuckles, applying a steady pressure. He sealed his lipplates around Ratchet's digits and dragged his glossa along the length of them in one long, steady pull.   
  
Ratchet shouted, frame arching, as overload roared through him. Energy crackled and danced over his armor like fireworks and the sirens of his alt-mode activated with a wail that echoed in the medbay. Hottest fragging thing in the universe.   
  
Satisfaction washed over Sideswipe, helping to counter the need starting an eager pulse through his own circuits.   
  
Ratchet slumped, cooling fans working furiously, and Sideswipe smirked. He withdrew Ratchet's digits from his mouth, purposefully dragging his glossa down their length as he did so.   
  
“You...” Ratchet started, booting up his optics and cycling his vocalizer to clear the static, “are an annoying fragger.”   
  
Sideswipe grinned, unable to hide his glee. “The proper response,” he retorted, tapping his digits over Ratchet's wrist before letting it go, “is thank you.”   
  
“You didn't finish,” Ratchet said, arching an orbital ridge. Challenging Sideswipe, actually, as he held up his other servo. “Poor excuse for a maintenance job if you leave it half-done, don't you think?”   
  
Was that an invitation?  
  
Ratchet smirked.   
  
Why, yes, Sideswipe believed it was.   
  


***


End file.
